


Nick & Nora

by Browneyesparker



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Mystery, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browneyesparker/pseuds/Browneyesparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retired consultant, Patrick Jane, is living in a sleepy coastal town with his wife, Teresa Jane. When a murder occurs, the local sheriff asks him to put his skills to use and help him catch the killer. AU. For the 2012 Mentalist Big Bang on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Patrick Jane waved when he saw his wife, Teresa Lisbon-Jane staring down at him from the balcony of their modest beach home, cordless phone in one hand, the other cupped around her mouth as she called out to him. The wind and surf were so loud because of an oncoming storm that, except for his name, he could barely make out what she was trying to say to him. He hurled aside the piece of driftwood he had picked up after his afternoon session on the waves and grabbed his surfboard from the sand, deciding to go and see what she wanted instead of trying to understand what she was saying from a distance.

When she saw him headed towards the house, she put the phone to her ear, said something to the person on the other end, and then disappeared inside, shutting the glass doors behind her.

Teresa came outside just as he had propped his surfboard up against the house and had started to peel off his wet suit.

“The sheriff called to talk to you,” she said as she hopped up on the porch railing and watched as he pulled a t-shirt the color of a robin’s egg over his head before slinging his wet suit over the clothes line.

“Did he say what he wanted?” Patrick asked, looking around for a towel to dry out his blonde curls with.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her body as the wind picked up even more, chilling her slightly and causing her brunette tresses to sweep across her cheeks. “No, all he said was that it was important and that he’d be stopping over to have a chat with you in thirty minutes or so.”

“I wonder what he could want,” Patrick mused. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in trouble with the law. . .” he stopped short when he saw the disapproving look in his wife’s eyes and shrugged. “I’m sure it has _nothing_ to do with me, it isn’t like you can get into much trouble living in a sleepy, coastal town like this.”

“I’m sure people could find a way if they really wanted to,” Teresa replied, smiling at him.

Patrick smirked in return and peered out at the horizon. “Let’s get inside; I don’t think that the rain is going to hold off much longer, and you look like you’re freezing in nothing but shorts and a sleeveless blouse.”

“I’m not cold at all,” she said, her body giving her away as she shivered against the breeze slightly, her bare arms were dotted with goose bumps.

 “Well, whether you’re cold or not, I’d like a cup of tea and I still need to finish getting dressed before Sherriff Cho shows up.”

“Right,” Teresa said, sliding off the railing and following him into their house just as the rain started to pour mercilessly from the dark clouds. “You go and finish getting dressed; I’ll put the tea on.”

A few minutes later, he joined her in the kitchen fully dressed, with their Fox Wire Terrier at his heels, and her favorite, oversized sweatshirts draped over his arm.

“Here,” he said as he slipped it over her head. “I thought you might still be cold.”

“Just a little bit,” she admitted as the water began to boil and there was a knock at their front door. “Oh, that must be the sheriff,” Teresa looked at the time on their microwave and frowned as she pushed her arms into the sleeves. “He’s early. . . I really hope everything’s okay.”

“In a sleepy little town like this?” Patrick said. “I’m sure everything’s fine, he probably wants to discuss a parking ticket or something. I don’t think we were parked in the right spot when we went out to eat a couple of nights ago.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed, not too happy with the prospect of a parking ticket. “Could you go and answer the door while I finish making your tea?”

He nodded obligingly and dropped an indulgent kiss on her cheek before picking up the dog and doing as she had requested.

Patrick flung the door open and ushered the soaking wet sheriff into the foyer with an enthusiastic greeting, fully prepared to talk his way out of the parking ticket he was sure the man had come to discuss with him. The theatrical smile slid off of his face when he saw his friend’s grim expression.

“Is everything okay Kimball?” He asked, dropping the formalities and leading him into the living room.

“You haven’t heard?”

Patrick frowned. “We haven’t heard anything, Teresa and I have been here all day. And nobody’s stopped by to see us either, what’s going on?”

Cho tugged at his collar and shifted uncomfortably as he avoided the other man’s eyes. “Well—”

“Your tea’s ready Patrick,” Teresa said as she breezed into the living room with a full tray, she set it down on the coffee table in the middle of the room. “Sherriff Cho, welcome to our home. Won’t you sit down? It can’t be comfortable standing there like that.”

The Korean man nodded slightly and sat on the edge of their Williams-Sonoma couch. “Thank you.”

Teresa held up a cup. “Tea? I made enough for all of us.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Cho answered. “Now that Summer is pregnant, she’s banished coffee from the house. I have tea coming out of my ears.”

She nodded and filled a turquoise cup with the amber liquid before handing it over to Patrick. She started her own cup and smiled at “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Your husband and I were just about to discuss something that happened in town today,” Cho replied, the uncomfortable look returning.

“I hope everything’s okay,” Teresa said, taking a sip of her tea and peering at him over the rim of her mug.

“There was a murder at the bed & breakfast this morning,” Cho answered bluntly. “The owner’s daughter, Priscilla Bennett didn’t return home after her date with her boyfriend Edward Stephens last night. Her mother went out to look for her this morning and found her on the beach strangled to death.”

Teresa choked on her drink mid-sip. “A _murder_?” she repeated, looking absolutely stunned. “Here in White Sands? When was the last time anything like _that_ happened?”

“Over fifty years ago,” Cho admitted.

“You aren’t here because you think Teresa or I have anything to do with it, do you?” Patrick asked, running his finger along the rim of his cup.

“Of course not,” Cho answered. “It was obviously a crime of passion. I actually came to ask a favor of you Patrick. I heard that you were quite an expert at solving crimes a few years ago and that you actually helped close more than a few prominent cases when you were with the CBI, including the Red John one over in Sacramento.”

“Yes, I did,” Patrick agreed, placing his tea down. “But those days are over now; the Red John case was my last one, I retired from detective work and married Teresa after I closed it.”

Cho frowned. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you think you’re a little young to be retired already?”

Patrick shrugged. “Whether I’m too young or not is beside the point. I’m really not _interested_ in detective work anymore Sherriff Cho.”

“Well, that’s too bad because we could really use your help. My men aren’t used to handling murder cases, and they aren’t too keen on having an outsider come in on their turf.”

“Patrick, I really think you should at least look into helping Sherriff Cho,” Teresa said slowly. “It would give you a chance to put your skills to good use, you know as well as I do that you’ve been bored since we moved here, and I’d love to see you in action after only hearing about your tales of catching bad guys the past two years—”

“Really, I’d prove to be more of a nuisance than anything!” Patrick insisted. “Since you’ve heard about all my accomplishments Sherriff, I’m pretty sure that you’ve heard my methods leave something to be desired, that I really don’t play nice with others and that I am quite difficult to work with.”

“Yes, I did hear that,” Cho affirmed. “But I’d be willing to overlook those facts if you were willing to help bring Priscilla Bennett to justice.”

“I liked Priscilla,” Teresa put in. “She sat behind me at mass, she was such a nice girl too, it’s terrible that somebody decided to take her life—”

“I’m interested to know who you think is responsible for taking her life Cho,” Patrick interjected.

“Like I said, it looked like a crime of passion,” Cho answered slowly. “And she was out with her boyfriend last night, so if pressed _right_ now to make a decision on a guilty party then I’d have to say _he_ was guilty—”

“Ha!” Patrick laughed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“And how do you know this?” Cho challenged, raising a dark eyebrow as he observed the man.

“Because the boyfriend is _always_ the most obvious choice when a crime like this happens!” Patrick answered. “And the only evidence you have to support your ‘theory’ is they were out together last night.”

“Well, he was the last one to see her alive,” Cho said. “So, I’m obligated to look into him.”

Patrick waved his hand like he was pushing the thought aside. “Meh, he’s innocent until proven guilty. You know what, I think I _will_ help you. . . but only long enough to prove Edward’s innocence, after that you’re on your own Sherriff.”

“Fine,” Cho conceded, nodding slightly.

“I’ll just need to see the body,” Patrick said.

Suddenly, Cho looked very uncomfortable. “Oh. . . I’m afraid that isn’t possible. The coroner took the body to the city hours ago.”

“That’s fine,” Patrick replied. “I’ll just drive into the city and have a look at the body there.”

“In this weather?” Teresa asked, looking slightly startled as her eyes inadvertently darted to the picture window and out at the storm raging outside.

“Meh, I’ll be fine. . .”

“Not in that wreck you call a car!” Teresa protested.

“I won’t take the Citroen,” he promised.

“I’ll call the coroner’s office and tell them that I gave you permission to look at the body,” Cho said, raising to his feet and taking his cell phone out of its holder.

“I’m going to come with you,” Teresa said, getting to her feet and beginning to clear the tea things away.

Patrick frowned. “Wouldn’t you rather stay here where it’s dry and safe?”

“I’ve never seen you at work,” she replied smoothly. “I think it’ll be interesting.”

“I think you should just stay here with the dog,” Patrick said.

“We could bring Asta with us,” Teresa answered over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen.

Patrick shook his head, knowing that there was no way on earth he would be able to convince her to stay home, she had already made her mind up to come with him.

Cho snapped his phone shut and put it away. “Okay, I talked to them. They said that it was fine if you came in and looked at the body, but you’re going to have to wait until tomorrow. I just got a message that they shut down the main road because of the storm.”

Patrick nodded. “I guess it’s for the best.”

“At least the murderer won’t be able to leave tonight,” Cho said.

“That is a good thing,” Patrick agreed, thinking maybe if he left early enough than he wouldn’t have to bring his wife along.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your evening then. Have a good night.”

“You too,” Patrick replied, leading him to the door and showing him out.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 Patrick got up early the next morning, hoping to sneak out quietly before Teresa woke up and asked if she could tag along with him on his visit to the morgue. He glanced over at her side of the bed to make sure she was still sleeping and saw that it was empty. He groaned inwardly and slid out of bed to go looking for her. When he couldn’t find her anywhere in the house, he figured she had taken Asta and went across the beach to check on their elderly neighbor like she usually did after a major storm.

He showered as quickly as he could and then scribbled a note to his wife, telling her where he was going and that he would be home sometime before lunch. The whole time he kept glancing over his shoulder, fearful that she would come in the kitchen and catch him trying to leave without her.

Five minutes later, he was home free and on the road to the mainland, ignoring his growling stomach as he tried to find a static-free radio station. Unfortunately the only one he could find that was relatively clear was one that played the top 40 on repeat and there was _no_ way that he was going to put up with whiney boy bands singing about what made a girl beautiful or vindictive teenage girls with no vocal ability at all singing about their ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend.

He powered the radio down and tried to remember the reasons he hadn’t wanted to bring Teresa with him in the first place. He usually liked her company on long car rides, her conversation made the drive to the city bearable. With that thought in mind, he almost turned around to go back to the house and get her, but a glance at the clock in his dashboard told him that it would prove to be a waste of time, because he had already knocked out a large portion of his travel time.

He sighed and clicked the radio back on; he’d just have to rely on the horrible top 40 crap to keep him company.

**.**

Patrick stopped short when he saw the petite brunette with a fox wire terrier resting in her lap as she sat on an old, wooden bench in front of the police department holding a clear plastic umbrella in one hand and a large Starbucks coffee in another.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Tagging along,” she answered, smiling at him triumphantly. “I knew you wouldn’t take me with you, so I got up early and took the ferry over.”

“You weren’t at the house when I left,” Patrick said lamely. “But I thought you were checking on Mrs. Wynant “

“I _did_ check on her,” Teresa replied, putting Asta down and standing up so she could share the umbrella with her husband. “We had to clean up some of her plants and get her cat off the roof, but other than that she’s fine.”

“Oh. . .”

“You know, for somebody smart you can be pretty dumb sometimes,” she teased him. “I can’t believe you didn’t figure out that I’d come with you somehow.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agreed, taking the umbrella from her and taking her hand. “I really can’t believe that I didn’t see it coming either. I mean, I can’t even remember a time since we met and became friends that you let me leave you out of anything.”

Teresa shrugged and looked down at their dog. “I’m going to run and put Asta in the car, I have a feeling they won’t let him in the police department.”

“You’re probably right,” he answered, taking his keys out of his pants pocket and handing them over to her along with the umbrella. “The Citroen is parked two rows down. I’ll wait here for you okay?”

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to figure out if he was going to try and give her the slip again. She realized that it didn’t matter if he went ahead without her; she’d catch up with him eventually. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Be right back. Come on Asta.”

Patrick watched as his wife hurried down the sidewalk, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds just to make sure he was still waiting for her as their dog faithfully trotted alongside her, seemingly aware of his mistress’s need for haste.

Teresa returned a couple of minutes later, not bothering to even try and conceal her shock when she saw that he was still waiting for her just like he had said that he would.

“Ready?” He asked, reaching for her hand and leading her to the front entrance of the building.

“Yeah,” she answered, smiling up at him. “Are _you_ ready?”

“Of course I am,” Patrick replied, raising his eyebrows as he opened the door and motioning for her to go in first. “Why would I be anything but ready?”

“I guess because you haven’t really done any detective work since we got married,” Teresa said, smirking. “You might be a little rusty.”

“Woman, I am _anything_ but rusty!” Patrick told her. “I’m always keeping my skills sharpened.”

“By watching CSI: Miami marathons on AMC and reading James Patterson novels?” Teresa asked smirking slightly. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a great way to keep your ‘skills’ sharpened.”

“Come on Reese, you know that I always know who the killer is before _any_ of the idiotic, pretty boy detectives on television do.”

“But it is _television_ , the writers create thinly veiled plots so the viewers at home are able to figure out who the killer is before the ‘pretty boy detectives’ do,” Teresa pointed out as they shuffled through security.

A few minutes later, they had both been given visitor passes and were being transported down to the autopsy room by a bored looking detective.

The coroner waiting for them was tall, thin, and balding with a pronounced nose and thin, frameless glasses.

Patrick’s face lit up when he recognized the man as a doctor he had worked on cases with a few times when they had both been located in Sacramento. Eventually Steiner had taken a job transfer that paid more and they’d lost contact.

“Steiner!” He exclaimed gleefully.

“Jane!” Steiner replied as he turned around, smiling at the younger man. “They told me that you were consulting on this case. It’s so good to see you again!”

“You too,” Patrick replied warmly. “I thought the alien abduction case was going to be the last case we ever worked on together.”

“Me too,” Steiner admitted, turning to look at Teresa. “And who’s this beautiful young woman that you have with you Jane?”

“Just some random woman I picked up on one of the cases I was working a while ago,” Patrick answered with a fake air of dismissiveness as he winked at her. “We dated for a while and then I decided to marry her for her money.”

Steiner laughed. “Like you need any more money Jane! Everybody knows that you weren’t working with the CBI for the weekly paycheck. Who is she _really_?”

“I’m Teresa Lisbon,” she answered, grinning. “Patrick’s _wife_ , except he wasn’t being entirely honest when he said he married me for my money.”

“Oh?” Steiner asked.

“No, the truth is that I married him for _his_ money.”

Both she and Patrick laughed at this particular statement and Steiner shrugged, figuring it was some sort of private joke between the married couple.

“Well,” Steiner said after their laughter had died down. “I’m happy for you Jane. I didn’t ever think that you’d get married again.”

“Me either,” Patrick answered looking at Teresa affectionately. “But there’s an exception to every rule, and I’d love to tell you the real story one day. But for now, I think we need to focus on the task at hand.”

“Of course,” Steiner replied, remembering that Patrick Jane had never been one for sharing private details as he led the pair over to an operating table and pulling off the white sheet that was covering the corpse.

“She was strangled to death,” Patrick said after thoroughly examining the body and taking in the light black and blue abrasions on her neck.

“That might be a very good assumption,” the doctor agreed, pushing his glasses further up on his nose and smiling inspite of himself.

Patrick ignored the sarcastic remark and continued to study Pricilla’s neck critically. “I can’t tell from the size of the bruises if she was strangled by a man or a woman.”

“That’s because she was strangled with a scarf,” Steiner answered, pulling a plastic Ziploc bag out from a drawer and holding it up for him to see.

“Hermés,” Patrick mused aloud.

Teresa frowned. “What does the brand of the scarf have to do with anything Patrick?”

“We’ll have to see. Well, we’re done here for now,” Patrick said, sticking his hand out towards the coroner. “Steiner, it was nice seeing you again.”

“You too Jane,” he agreed. “And it was a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Jane.”

Teresa smiled and nodded, sliding her hand into her husband’s. “The same goes for you.”

“One more thing before we go,” Patrick said. “Is there a place you can get decent eggs around here? I’m afraid that I didn’t have time to eat breakfast before I came today.”

“Sorry Jane, the only places we have around here for breakfast are Denny’s, iHop, and a McDonalds.”

Patrick made a face at the prospect of a chain restaurant breakfast. “It’s fine, I should get home and talk to the sheriff anyways. See you around doc.”

**.**

“I’d like to talk to the boyfriend,” Patrick said as he and Teresa were on the way home.

“I thought you said the boyfriend _didn’t_ do it,” Teresa replied. “You said that it would be too obvious if he did.”

“I still think the boyfriend is innocent,” Patrick answered. “But he still might know something that could be of use to me. Like if she had any exes that could have been trying to get her back, or if she was having trouble with people at work—”

“But she worked at her dad and mom’s B&B,” Teresa interjected.

“Right, and one or more of the employees could have gotten jealous because she got the royal treatment from her daddy and mommy,” Patrick pointed out.

“But Cho said it was a crime of passion,” Teresa felt the need to point out.

“I guess we’ll have to look into ex-lovers or employees with a secret crush then, won’t we?”

“I guess,” she agreed, smiling at the way he had said _we_.

“Now could you call Cho and tell him that we’re headed back to the island?” Patrick asked, tossing his cell phone over to her. “Then ask him if we could possibly talk to Pricilla’s boyfriend when we get back.”

“But you need to eat,” she reminded him.

“I’ll eat later,” Patrick assured her.

“Here,” she said rifling through her purse and tossing a granola bar in her lap. “We aren’t going to do a single thing if you don’t eat anything.”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “If I wanted somebody to tell me what to do, I would have moved in with my mother.”

“Would you even allow your own mother to tell you what to do?”

Patrick considered this statement for a moment and then shrugged. “Probably not. Would you call Sherriff Cho now?”

“Will you eat the granola bar?” Teresa asked, scrolling through his contacts.

“I can’t open it right now,” Patrick answered. “I’m driving.”

“I’ll open it for you,” Teresa said, clicking the send button and pressing the phone to her ear as she unwrapped the bar from its packaging and handed it over to her husband. She greeted the man on the other end of the line. “Hey Kimball, this is Teresa Jane. I’m calling for Patrick, he wanted me to tell you that we’re leaving the city now and that he’d like to talk to Pricilla’s boyfriend when we get back to the island. Okay, see you soon.”

“What did he say?” Patrick asked through a mouthful of food.

“He said it was fine if you questioned Edward, but you’ll have to go over to the bed and breakfast to do it because they didn’t have anything to hold him on,” she replied, sliding Patrick’s cell phone back into his jacket pocket.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

****

“We were going run away to New York or Los Angeles and get married,” Edward Stephens told Patrick and Teresa as they sat together on the spacious front porch of the bed & breakfast, sipping on glasses of icy sweet tea. “I had just proposed to her.”

“She wasn’t wearing an engagement ring,” Patrick said.

“What?” Edward asked, looking up from his lap, shock filling his red-rimmed eyes. “But . . . but she told me that she’d never take it off—”

“Was Pricilla having trouble with anybody here at the inn, or maybe an old boyfriend?” Teresa interjected before the younger man could get worked up too much.

Edward shook his head and sniffed. “No, everybody here loved ‘Cilla, and she only had one boyfriend before me, their split was mutual. He got married this summer. We were actually guests at his wedding.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t having trouble with anybody?” Patrick pressed. “Maybe she was having trouble with her parents because they knew she wanted to leave White Sands—”

_“NO!”_ Edward said loudly, shaking his head empathetically. “Bruce and Mildred only wanted ‘Cilla to be happy, even if it meant moving far away from them.”

“Maybe they could have changed their minds,” Patrick tried tactfully. “Decided that they wanted her to stay here, even if it was in a coffin—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Edward replied, defending his bosses. “They loved their daughter more than anything in this whole entire world! They would have never killed her! Mildred was devastated when she found ‘Cilla on the beach, Bruce can’t even get her to stop crying long enough to talk to the policemen or plan the funeral, it _wasn’t_ them!”

“Okay,” Patrick agreed passively. “Now I know you’re upset Edward, but I want you to think really hard for me. Is there anybody, and I mean _anybody_ who’s been bothering Priscilla lately?”

Edward paused for a second, rubbing the perspiration off his glass and looking out at the rain. “Well. . . .”

“Just tell me the name you thought of,” Patrick stopped him.

“Shawn Jones,” Edward said. “He used to have a crush on her when we were in high school. Lately it seems like it’s come back. He asked her out at least once a week and he would always bring her gifts.”

“Gifts?” Patrick asked.

“Like flowers and her favorite candy,” Edward answered. “Sometimes he’d bring her lotion from the expensive bath store at the mall. One time he brought her a bracelet.”

“And she’d always reject his advances?”

“Always,” Edward confirmed. “She was dating me, we were going to get married. . . w-we loved each other—” he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Edward, we’re done for now,” Patrick said, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “If you remember anything that you’d like to tell me then you can always stop by house, I’ll leave the address with the front desk.”

Edward nodded silently, too overcome with emotion to even try and offer them the simplest of goodbyes.

**.**

“Did you get anything from Edward Stephens?” Cho asked as he approached Teresa and Patrick at their table in Virgil and May’s.

“A name,” Patrick answered, stealing an onion ring from Teresa’s plate and dipping it in ketchup.

“A name,” Cho repeated. “Okay, who’s?”

Patrick chewed on his onion ring and took a sip of tea. “Shawn Jones.”

Cho rolled his eyes. “What about Shawn Jones?”

“Apparently he had a thing for your victim,” Patrick replied. “He was constantly asking her out and giving her presents. Maybe he got jealous and decided to kill Pricilla.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Cho said. “Why not just kill Edward and be Pricilla’s shoulder to cry on?”

“Maybe he didn’t plan on killing her,” Patrick answered. “Maybe all he wanted to do was talk to her, make her see reason. And when she wouldn’t listen to him, when she told him that she was going to marry Edward and move away with him, something inside of him snapped Maybe he decided that if he couldn’t have her then nobody else could have her either.”

“Have you even talked to Shawn yet?” Cho asked.

“Uh, no,” Patrick replied. “And I wasn’t going to either. I proved that Edward is innocent, and that’s all I said I would do.”

“This is your lead though,” Cho said. “Don’t you want to follow up on it?”

“Sherriff, I’m sure you and your men are perfectly adequate to follow up on this lead,” Patrick responded, taking his wallet out and tossing a few bills on the table.

“That’s what you think,” the younger man muttered. “The biggest thing that my men have ever handled is teenage disturbances on the beach.”

Teresa kicked Patrick in the ankle and gave him a look that said _just help him out!_

Patrick sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll come with you to talk to Shawn, but that’s _all_. After that you’re going to be all on your own.”

“Are you busy now?” Cho asked.

Patrick looked at his watch and sighed. “Well. . . it _is_ almost time for my afternoon surf—”

“Which you were going to have to forego because of the rain anyways,” Teresa interjected.

He shrugged. “My wife has spoken, I’m free right now. Let me just drop the dog and the little lady off at home and I’ll meet you back over at the bed & breakfast in about, oh let’s say, thirty minutes.”

“The bed & breakfast in thirty minutes,” Cho repeated. “Okay, see you then. I’m going to check in on Summer now, why she insists on still working when she’s can go into labor any day now, I will _never_ know.”

Teresa turned to Patrick after Cho had left, her eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean that you’re dropping me off at home? I want to go with you—”

“You aren’t tired yet?” Patrick asked.

“What?”

“You look a little tired to me,” he answered. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and have a nap before you make dinner?”

“I’m sure,” Teresa replied.

“And what about Asta? When was the last time he was fed?”

“Asta’s fine, he ate just a few minutes ago,” she said. “Remember? May fed him half of a hamburger and French fries. Why are you trying to make me go home? Do you think Shawn Jones is dangerous or something?”

“No, I just don’t think a nice girl like you should be running around chasing murderers.”

She scoffed. “Ha! You seem to forget what I did before my father came into all that money and I quit my job.”

“I’ll let you come with me next time,” Patrick tried to compromise.

“There probably won’t be a next time,” Teresa answered. “The sheriff said that murder doesn’t happen around here. _Ever_.”

 “Are you bored?” Patrick asked suddenly as he linked their hands and they left the diner together.

“Bored?” Teresa repeated, looking confused. “What do you mean am I bored?”

“Living in a sleepy little town like this with barely anything to do,” he replied. “Because if you were, we could move back to Sacramento—”

She shook her head and knelt down to untie Asta from the porch rail. She looked up at him and smiled. “I like it here, yeah it’s quiet and everybody’s in your business all of the time, and yes we have to drive an hour just to get to the nearest movie theater, but I like it. I wouldn’t trade my life here with you for anything, not even a job working with the SacPD again. Now come on, drop me off at home and go do your thing. Cho will be waiting for you.”

“You’re sure?” He double-checked, a little surprised that she was giving up the fight so quickly.     

“Yes,” Teresa answered, sliding into the passenger seat and buckling up.

He sighed. “Come with me.”

Teresa looked at little startled. “But you just said that—”

“I know what I said,” Patrick replied. “But I changed my mind. Do you still _want_ to come with me?”

“Of course I do—”

“It’s settled then,” he interjected. “You’re coming with me, now I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Fine,” Teresa agreed, smiling to herself. “You won’t hear another single word about it.”

**.**

“Gone?” Cho repeated looking at Bruce Bennett incredulously. “What do you mean that Shawn Jones is _gone_?”

“Exactly what I said,” Bruce said like he was talking to a kindergartner. “You can’t talk to Shawn because he took his first paycheck and left early this morning.”

“You shouldn’t have let him leave!” Cho said. “He’s a suspect in your daughter’s murder!”

“Kimball,” Bruce said wearily. “I don’t think Shawn killed ‘Cilla, he liked her too much to do that. The poor boy was so distraught this morning because she had been murdered. He _had_ to leave. Besides, he was with me getting the inn ready for the storm around the time she was murdered.”

Cho sighed and rubbed his temples, glancing at Patrick and Teresa. “Do you have any idea where he could have gone?”

“His mother just moved to three city three months ago,” Bruce answered after a moment’s pause. “Maybe he went to see her. I mean, it’s where he usually went when he was upset.”

“Did he leave an address in case you needed to get in touch with him for anything?” Patrick asked.

“No,” Bruce answered slowly. “But he did refill his emergency contact information when his mom moved. I have her new home phone number, if that’ll help you out any.”

“It might,” Cho said.

“I’ll go and get it,” Bruce replied turning around and heading for the door. He stopped for a second then looked back at the threesome standing on his porch. “You don’t really think Shawn could have done this, do you?”

“Mr. Bennett, we can’t just rule him out as a suspect just because he liked your daughter,” Patrick answered. “I’ve worked a lot of cases, and I’ve seen a lot of men who’ve killed women that they claim to be _in love_ with.”

Bruce sighed heavily, his shoulders taking on even more of a slump than before. “I’ll go and get that phone number and name for you now.”

**.**

“Natalie Jones just confirmed that her son showed up this afternoon and asked her if he’d be able to stay with her for a while,” Cho said as he hung up the telephone and glanced over at Patrick, who was making a cup of tea across the room. “It’s getting late though and I don’t think that Shawn will be going anywhere anytime soon, maybe we should just call it a day and reconvene tomorrow morning. Even if we left for the city right now, it would be too late to go and question him by the time we got there. Will that work for you Jane?”

“I don’t think I have any plans,” Patrick answered, looking at Teresa. “Do we have plans tomorrow, darling?”

Teresa tossed aside the outdated _Reader’s Digest_ she had been flipping through. “Not really.”

“Tomorrow it is then,” Patrick replied.

Cho jotted something down on an electric blue sticky note and got up from his chair to give it to Patrick. “Meet me at this address in the morning, and if you can, try to be there early as possible.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Patrick, what _are_ you doing?” Teresa asked, walking into the mall Starbucks to find her husband behind the counter making tea while an unhappy teenage girl wearing black leggings and a lip ring watched him with her arms folded across her chest.

“I’m just showing Willow here how to make a _proper_ cup of tea,” he answered.

Teresa rolled her eyes. “Come back around the counter and let the poor girl do her job,” she said.

“But Teresa, she wasn’t making my tea the right way!” Patrick protested. “What did you expect me to do?”

“Um, I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe _pay_ for your tea and drink it without complaining. Why are you even here anyways? You’re supposed to be with Cho questioning Shawn Jones.”

“Shawn wasn’t there when we got to his mother’s apartment,” Patrick said, picking up his drink and coming around the counter, he smiled at Willow as he took Teresa’s hand and tugged her towards the door. “Thank you for the lovely tea.”

“Come again,” the teenage barista managed to get out, even though both Patrick and Teresa could tell from the tone of her voice that she didn’t really mean it.

“Patrick, what did you do to that poor girl?” Teresa asked as they started to make their way towards the mall entrance.

“I told you, I was just showing her the right way to make tea,” he answered. “She was going to put the milk in _after_ she’d brewed the tea.”

Teresa gasped, pretending to look scandalized. “Putting the milk in after the tea, what a crime.”

“You won’t be laughing the next time somebody at Starbucks doesn’t put enough foam in your latté,” said Patrick.  

“I won’t go behind the counter and show them the right way to make a latté,” she replied.

“Do you even know the right way to make a latté?” Patrick challenged as he opened the mall doors and allowed her to exit first.

Teresa smirked. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Jane, that I have latté making down to a _science_. My friends and I used a French press to make them when we were in college and were trying to save money.”

Patrick was about to reply when his phone buzzed. “It’s a text from Cho telling me that Shawn’s at his mother’s apartment, and that he’s willing to talk to us.”

 Teresa frowned. “Really?”

“Honestly, I’m not so sure anymore that Shawn’s guilty of killing Pricilla. She was strangled with a woman’s scarf.”

Her frown deepened. “So? What does _that_ have to do with anything? He could have killed her with her own scarf—”

“Did you ever see Pricilla wearing _Hermés_ scarves?”

“Well, no. . .” Teresa admitted slowly. “In fact I don’t think I’ve seen her wear any kind of scarf before.”

“So, it’s impossible that Shawn could have killed her with her own scarf,” Patrick reasoned.

“Maybe he brought it with him,” Teresa answered.

“Doubtful,” Patrick said, unlocking their car door. “They don’t think it was premeditated, remember? Stealing a scarf to use as a murder weapon would qualify as premeditation, wouldn’t it?”

Teresa was about to answer when a masculine voice interrupted her.

“Patrick Jane! Funny running into you here of all places, I thought for sure that you’d still be in Sacramento solving cases for that CBI place!”

Patrick turned around and faked smile as a tall, dark-haired man approached them with a leggy, blonde in tow. “Walter Mashburn! Long time no see! I thought you were somewhere in Europe.”

“That was ages ago,” the other man answered, his eyes zoning in on Teresa immediately. “Who’s this? Is she your new partner?”

“You could say that,” Patrick answered, putting a possessive around her waist. “This is my wife, Teresa. Teresa, this is Walter Mashburn—”

“Your husband saved me from going to jail _twice_ ,” he interjected, looking like he was proud of the fact that he’d been a suspect in murder cases. He turned back to Patrick. “How in the world did you land her? She’s absolutely gorgeous!”

“I married her for her money,” Patrick replied with a smirk. “She’s literally rolling in millions.”

Mashburn frowned. “Really?”

The blonde he was with sighed impatiently and tapped her Prada clad foot on the pavement. “Walt?”

Mashburn smiled. “As much as I’d love to catch up with you, I have things to do.”

I’m sure,” Patrick said, giving the blonde a critical look. “Well, it was lovely seeing you again. I’m sorry we can’t spend more time catching up, but I’m running a little late.”

“Well, get in touch soon!” Mashburn called as the woman he was with started to pull him towards the mall.

“You’re not going to get in touch with him, are you?” Teresa asked as she tossed her purse and shopping bag into the car and got in.

“I might,” he answered, sliding in and putting the key into the ignition. “Mashburn’s an okay fellow, and I like him a lot. He’s just not the kind of person you become really close friends with.”

“For a moment there, you looked like you wanted to kill him.”

“He has a tendency to flirt with _anything_ that has breasts and is attractive,” Patrick explained almost defensively. “You should have seen him hit on Madeline Hightower the first time we met him. It was pretty funny to see him try and charm her socks off, but what was even funnier was the way she shot him down twice. Hightower is just the kind of woman you couldn’t charm.”

“Oh, really?” Teresa asked as he pulled out of the mall parking lot. “So, I’m assuming that even _you_ couldn’t succeed in charming her then?”

“You have nothing to be jealous about dear; I never hit on her or anything like that. She wasn’t my type.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you have a type then, do you?”

“I do,” Patrick replied, winking at her. “Petite brunettes who agree to marry strange men.”

“Ah.”

**.**

“I didn’t kill ‘Cilla,” Shawn told Cho and Patrick, looking straight at them as he spoke. “I _did_ talk to her though, I guess it was right before she was killed. But is that a crime?”

“It depends,” Cho answered. “What did you two talk about?”

“Well. . .” Shawn hesitated, before shrugging sheepishly. “I was trying to convince her not to marry Edward or leave White Sands, before we could finish our conversation I got a text from Mr. Bennett asking me to go and take the inn’s sign down before the storm hit. I _swear_ , I didn’t kill her! You just have to believe me, Sheriff! I loved her! Why would you kill somebody you loved?”

“Jealousy,” Patrick answered. “Or maybe you thought that if you couldn’t have her then nobody else should have her either—”

“No!” Shawn insisted adamantly.

“Shawn!” Natalie chided quietly.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead wearily. “I didn’t kill her!” he insisted.

There was a long silence and then Patrick cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom, Mrs. Jones?”

“Um no, of course not,” Natalie answered. “It’s down the hall and to your immediate right.”

“I’ll be right back, if you’d excuse me for just a second.”

A few minutes later, Patrick returned with an unreadable expression on his face. “Cho, if you don’t have any more questions for Shawn, I think can go now. I, ah, found an interesting lead.”

“Okay,” Cho agreed, snapping his notebook shut. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Jones. Shawn, stay around town for a while. Okay?”

**.**

“Shawn didn’t do it,” Patrick announced as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Cho frowned. “How’d you come to that particular conclusion?”

“I looked around his room—”

Cho held up a hand to stop him. “Wait a second. _You searched his room?_ Now, I might not have worked on a lot of cases, but I know enough about investigating to know that searching a suspect’s, _anything_ is illegal without a warrant to do so. It could possibly get evidence thrown away in a court of law—”

“Oh, would you just relax? It isn’t like he’s going to ever find out about it. And even if he did, he should thank me. What I found will probably save him from a life in prison.”

“What did you even find?” Teresa asked, interjecting quickly before a possible argument broke out between the two men.

“A prescription for inexpensive reflux medication, a week’s worth of clothes, his high school yearbook, and a CD by some band with a strange name that I think is, possibly, Swedish.”

“So?” Cho asked, folding his arms across his chest as the elevator doors sprung open and they exited it.

“What I didn’t find was Pricilla’s missing engagement ring,” Patrick answered.

Cho raised an eyebrow. “What on earth made you go and look for her engagement ring?”

“Steiner told me that she wasn’t wearing one when her body arrived at the morgue.”

“Maybe Shawn got rid of it,” Cho suggested. “Or maybe she hadn’t put it on yet and it dropped in the sand while she was struggling to get away from her attacker.”

“ _If_ Shawn killed Pricilla, and that’s a big _if_ now, I don’t think he would have been in the right mind to even think about getting rid of the engagement ring after stealing it.”

“Did you check everything?” Cho asked. “Even his clothes pockets?”

“What do you think? This isn’t exactly my first rodeo! _Of course_ I checked all his clothes pockets! I even checked the toes of his _sneakers_!” Patrick said in exasperation.

“Well, I just can’tthrow away a major lead on a hunch you have about a missing engagement ring.” Cho replied defensively. “I need to make sure you have substantial evidence to support your theory.”

Patrick smiled slightly. “Good for you, you sound like a seasoned investigator!”

Cho raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Fine. Go and investigate your lead.”

**.**

“So now that you’ve ruled Shawn Jones out as a suspect, who do you think did it?” Teresa asked as she lit beach wood scented candles and turned the radio up.

“I don’t have any suspects quite yet. I’m still mulling over the possibilities,” Patrick answered, picking up an apple and tossing it from one hand to another, before putting it back. “I think I’ll go over to the bed & breakfast and take a good look around. Maybe I’ll see something that I missed when we were talking to Bruce and Edward.”

“Okay,” Teresa agreed, rummaging through the cabinet and pulling out a box of lasagna noodles. “Try and not to be gone too long though. I should have dinner ready in an hour, an hour and fifteen minutes max.”

“I’ll be back in time,” Patrick said.

“You better be!” she replied as she filled a pot with water. “And _please_ , don’t do anything you’re not supposed to, try and follow some sort of protocol.”

“Please, I’m a private investigator—”

“That doesn’t matter! You still need to follow some sort of protocol!” Teresa insisted.

“Didn’t I just promise the sheriff that I’d look into things legally?”

Teresa laughed. “I really don’t think you’re going to keep it though. I’ve heard stories from Madeline about your investigating—”

“If you knew about the way I closed cases then why did you _insist_ that I help out with the investigation to find Pricilla’s killer?” Patrick asked, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re wasting valuable time,” Teresa answered as she turned the heat down and dropped the sheets of pasta into the boiling water. “If you don’t leave right now, you might not be back in time for dinner—”

“I’m going, I’m going!” Patrick interrupted, grabbing his keys and pecking her on the cheek. “If I’m not back by the time you have dinner on the table, then we’re at war.”

**TBC. . .**


	5. Chapter 5

“Mr. Jane, what are you doing here?” Bruce Bennett asked as he looked up from the garden bed he was weeding in surprise.

“I just came to look around a little bit,” Patrick answered. “If that’s okay with you, that is.”

“Of course you can look around!” Bruce replied, rubbing his dirty hands on the front of his worn-out work shirt. “If you need anything, I’ll be out here trying to finish getting the place ready before ‘Cilla’s funeral on Friday.”

Patrick nodded and made his way up the steps to the front entrance. “I won’t be long, the wife expects me home for dinner in less than an hour.”

Bruce got to his knees again so he could finish his gardening. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. If anybody gives you any trouble at all, have them come and talk to me. Okay?”

“Thank you. Don’t worry Mr. Bennett; I’m going to find out who killed your daughter. I promise,” Patrick said, smiling encouragingly at the older man before slipping into the bed & breakfast.

**.**

Patrick’s search for Pricilla’s missing engagement ring started in Edward’s room, a thorough examination of the room and all he found was a half-a-dozen mixed CDs with sappy love songs scrawled on the plastic covers, a playbill for the musical _Phantom of the Opera_ , a pile of dirty laundry, and a couple of books from a series that involved vampires and werewolves. The ring, as he had suspected, was nowhere to be found.

Shawn’s room, although it was lot messier than Edward’s with clothes, books, and CDs with the names of foreign bands strewn across the floor, supplied him with the same results. The engagement ring wasn’t anywhere to be found in the whole entire room.

He tried to look in Pricilla’s room next, but the door was shut and locked.  Classical music was seeping from underneath it, mixing with the sounds of a woman’s weeping.  After a few minutes in front of the door thinking about his next move, Patrick resisted the temptation to pick the lock and decided to move on to the senior Bennett’s bedroom.

 

Aside from the unmade bed, it was the cleanest room on the top floor allowing him to investigate it quickly. He didn’t find the ring anywhere, but he did find a collection of Hermés scarves on Mildred Bennett’s side of the walk-in closet.

**.**

 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Bruce asked as Patrick retreated from the bed & breakfast, hands in his pocket.

 

“Not really,” Patrick replied. “Do you have a metal detector I could use? I’m hoping what I’m looking for on the beach.”

 

“My b&b is located on the beach, Mr. Jane,” Bruce answered. “I have _several_ metal detectors; I rent them out to my guests who want to try their hand at beachcombing. Do you need to use one for something related to my daughter’s murder investigation?”

 

“I do.”

 

Bruce dropped the trowel he was holding and got to his feet. “Just give me a second and I’ll run up to my office and get one for you.”

 

“Thanks,” Patrick said when Bruce had returned five minutes later with two top of the line metal detectors.

 

“No problem,” he replied as he handed it over to him. “Do you think I could come and help you find whatever it is you’re looking for? Pricilla’s funeral is so close and I want the person who did this caught and behind bars before we lay her to rest.”

 

Patrick hesitated for a second, before nodding as he started towards the beach. “If that’s what you really want, then you’re more than welcome to come with me.”

 

Bruce fell into step with the younger man and offered him a smile. “Thank you.”

 

**.**

“The way you’re handling your daughter’s murder is admirable,” Patrick commented as he waved the metal detector over the sand while they walked along the beach. 

 

“Somebody has to handle it well,” Bruce said. “If I allowed myself to break down, who would take care of the bed & breakfast or talk to the police? Who’d make the funeral plans or accept all the casseroles and flowers that started to pour in almost immediately after the news my daughter was murdered had become public knowledge? Believe me, Mr. Jane there’s nothing more that I’d like to do then take on the role of the grieving father. But I can’t. Not when there’s so much to do and nobody here but me to do it. For a split second I did have Edward, but he couldn’t really take it. I had to send him away too, I didn’t want him breaking down on me.”

 

Patrick was about to reply when his metal detector beeped. His face lit up and he handed the device over to Bruce before getting to his knees and started to dig around with his bare hands. After a few seconds, he pulled up a round metal object that turned out to be an old, rusty cap from a bottle of Coke.

 

“I’m guessing that wasn’t what you were looking for,” Bruce said when he noted the consultant’s crestfallen face.

 

“No,” Patrick answered as he stood up and dusted himself off. “Come on, we’ll just have to keep looking.”

 

After walking the whole length of the small beach and finding nothing except a cheap, dollar store necklace and a handful of worn pennies, Patrick finally admitted his defeat. He glanced at his watch and realized he was five minutes late for dinner, so he bid Bruce a hasty goodbye and started for home.

 

**.**

“You’re a little later than you promised,” Teresa teased as he came into the house and threw his suit coat to the floor. “Don’t worry though, dinner took a little longer to cook than I had initially estimated. . . is everything okay, Patrick? You almost look—”

 

“Don’t worry darling, everything’s fine,” Patrick said, cutting quickly as he brushed past her and headed towards the living room.

 

“I don’t believe you,” Teresa said as she trailed after him, stopping only to scoop up his coat and drape it over the staircase. “What happened at the inn that got you so upset? Did Pricilla’s ring turn up in Shawn’s room or something?”

 

“No,” Patrick answered. “Nope, it’s still missing in action. Believe me, if the ring was _anywhere_ on the premises of the bed  & breakfast, then I would have found it.”

 

Teresa frowned. “If you didn’t find Pricilla’s missing engagement ring in Shawn’s room then what’s bothering you?”

 

“Nothing’s—”

 

“Do you remember how you promised on our first date that no matter how ugly or painful it was you wouldn’t ever keep anything from me?” Teresa interjected.

 

Patrick sighed. “I think, no, I am almost one hundred percent certain that Mildred Bennett killed her daughter.”

 

“Mildred Bennett?”  She pushed one of her hands against his chest as he tried to escape her again. “That’s a pretty big accusation to make. What makes you think she did it?”

 

“The scarves I found in the Bennett’s closet,” Patrick replied as he broke free from her grasp and started for the kitchen.

“Scarves?” Teresa repeated, chasing after him. “Tell me, when you worked for the CBI, were you always this sharing or did Hightower have to Heimlich information out of you?”

“They were from the same collection of scarves as the one that was used to strangle Pricilla,” he answered as he poured two glasses of wine. “But you can’t build a case around evidence like that because it’s all circumstantial. There are probably a lot of women coming on and off the island who own a Hermés scarf, that doesn’t make any of them guilty of murder.”

“You still don’t have any evidence that proves Shawn killed Pricilla,” Teresa reminded him gently as she took the glass he offered her.

“I know,” Patrick said, sighing heavily. “And that’s just what’s bothering me, Reece. I’m afraid that Pricilla’s killer will _never_ be caught because of the lack of substantial evidence. And if that happens, I fail. I’ll fail Mr. Bennett and Pricilla; I’ll fail Shawn and Edward. If I don’t catch whoever killed Pricilla, I’ll fail this whole town, and Cho. I’ll fail even you, because you had the faith in my skills of observation—”

“Shhhh!” She soothed, coming over to him and smoothing his windblown hair away from his forehead before standing on her tip-toes and giving him a gentle kiss on the lips.

“You don’t understand, I’ve never faced a case I couldn’t solve—”

Teresa cut him off with another kiss, after a long moment she pulled away and looked at him encouragingly. “I know you can do it. You haven’t failed me, not yet.”

“Well, I do believe the little lady cares!” Patrick drawled, his smile was teasing and he looked a little bit better than he had when he’d gotten home.

Teresa rolled her eyes and pulled away from him, muttering something incoherent about him never taking anything seriously as she went to take their dinner out of the oven.

**TBC. . .**


	6. Chapter 6

****

“Did you get any sleep at all last night?” Teresa asked as she poured her husband a cup of Earl Grey tea.

Patrick started in on his omelet and avoided her gaze. “What makes you think I didn’t get any sleep last night?”

“You tossed and turned most night, just like you used to when you were with the CBI and you were working on a particularly difficult case,” she answered, getting herself some coffee and joining him at the island.

“Oh,” he put his fork down. “I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

Teresa shook her head. “I only woke up once,” she assured him. “What about you though? Did all that tossing and turning finally give you a break in the case?”

He sighed. “Not really. I do think I need to talk to Mildred Bennett though. She’s one of the only people that I _haven’t_ talked to this whole time.”

“So, go and talk to her then.”

“We have a ton of housework to do though,” Patrick said.

“You and I both know that you won’t be good for anything if you don’t go and talk to her right now,” Teresa replied. “Come on and get ready, the chores will wait until we get back.”

Patrick looked a little surprised. “You’re going to come with me?”

“Well, if you don’t mind. . .”

“No, of course not!” Patrick said, a teasing look spreading over his handsome features. “I just thought you might want to stay around here and get a jump start on the chores.”

“Forget it, Mr. Jane! When we got married, we both agreed that we’d share the workload around the house. You’re not _ever_ going to get out of helping me with them.”

“What if I promised to do my share of the work when I got home?” Patrick asked, taking her hand and leading her up the stairs to their bedroom so they could get changed out of their pajamas.

“Tempting,” Teresa answered with a smirk. “But I’d really rather come with you this morning.”

“If that’s what you _really_ want then feel free to come with me,” he replied as he pulled his t-shirt off and threw it in their laundry basket. “As much as I _need_ to talk to Mrs. Bennett, I have a feeling this visit is just going to be another dead end. She isn’t coming out of her daughter’s bedroom for anything or anybody.”

“Well, maybe I can help you persuade her to come out,” Teresa suggested. “Sometimes a woman needs another woman to talk to.”

“I really do hope so,” Patrick replied as he finished buttoning his shirt. “Because if we don’t get some answers soon, then we might as well just call this a cold case.”

**.**

“You’re back again?” Bruce asked, rising to meet Patrick and Teresa as they came up the front porch steps.

“Back again,” Patrick answered. “I really need to talk to your wife; she’s the only person that we haven’t questioned yet. I’m hoping that if I talk to her, she’ll be able to help me solve the case.”

“You can try, but I don’t think it’ll do any good. She’s still hiding behind locked doors 24 hours a day,” Bruce told them.

“Maybe if she won’t listen to you then I can convince her to talk to us,” Teresa said.

Bruce put down the pen and notebook he had been writing down notes in. “If it’s going to help anything, then I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try and get her out of the room. I just want you to find out who killed Pricilla. I don’t feel right burying her”

“I know,” Patrick said sympathetically. “And I’m going to catch the person who did this to your daughter.”

“I know,” Bruce answered as he led them into the bed & breakfast. “I did some research on you after you left yesterday, and you’re the best. When you worked for that CBI place in Sacramento your unit had the record closing cases. I have faith that if _anybody_ can find out who killed my daughter, it’s you.”

**.**

“Please open up Mil,” Bruce begged as he pounded on the door a tenth time. “The Janes really need to talk to you about Pricilla.”

He paused for a beat before glancing at Patrick and Teresa with a disheartened expression on his face when the door still stayed closed.

“Try again,” Patrick encouraged.

Bruce sighed and tapped the door. “Mil? Will you _please_ come out for just a couple of minutes?”

“No!” Mildred answered after a few seconds. “I don’t want to see anybody. Go away Bruce! Just go away and leave me alone!”

 “Mrs. Bennett?” Teresa said, stepping up to the door. “It’s Teresa Jane, my husband is helping the police investigate your daughter’s murder and he needs to ask you a few questions. Can’t you help him out by talking to him?”

“I just wish you’d leave me alone, Mrs. Jane!” Mildred replied through a loud sniff. “I don’t know anything!”

“Come on Mrs. Bennett,” Teresa coaxed gently. “Do you really want your daughter’s killer to walk away scot free?”

 “If you don’t go away _right now_ I’m going to call the police and have you arrested for trespassing!” Mildred answered.

“Mildred, don’t be ridiculous!” Bruce said. “They’re not trespassing! I gave them _permission_ to be here! And besides, Mr. Jane’s working with the police to find out who killed our daughter. They’re not going to arrest him for doing something he’s supposed to be doing—”

“I could just pick the lock and force her to talk to me,” Patrick whispered to Bruce.

Bruce hesitated for a moment as he considered the suggestion, and then he shook his head. “You know I want to find Pricilla’s killer, but forcing my wife to talk to you might only make matters worse. Why don’t you go home and if I can get her to come out then I’ll bring her to see you right away.”

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” Teresa answered.

“It _is_ better than nothing,” Patrick agreed, ignoring his wife’s warning look.

“We’ll be home all afternoon doing housework, so you can stop by whenever you manage to get her out of the bedroom,” Teresa added.

Bruce nodded. “Thank you. You don’t know how much your help means to me—”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Patrick interjected as he took Teresa’s hand. “I’m still looking for Pricilla’s killer, and so far I haven’t gotten anywhere.”

“But you’re trying,” Bruce told him. “And that truly means a lot to me. Go on now; I’ll try my best to make Mildred see reason.”

**.**

Bruce showed up at their house later that afternoon, with a sober expression on his face, his eyes rimmed with red.

“Is everything alright? Where’s Mildred, did you convince her to come out of Pricilla’s bedroom” Patrick asked, leaning the broom that he had been using to sweep the porch up against the porch and approaching the distraught looking man.

Wordlessly, Bruce opened his hand and revealed a simple engagement ring resting in the palm of it.

**TBC. . .**


	7. Chapter 7

 “Where did you find the ring?” Patrick asked as he led Bruce inside his house and into the living room.

“I finally managed to get my wife out of Pricilla’s bedroom,” Bruce answered, his voice void of all emotion, his face looking like he’d aged ten years over the course of the afternoon. “I noticed she was clutching something in her hand and I forced her to show me what it was. . . you must have known it was her. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you thought it was my wife?”

“I didn’t have any proof that she had killed your daughter,” Patrick told him. “Besides, if I _had_ told you that I thought your wife was guilty, would you have listened to me?”

“I-I probably wouldn’t have,” Bruce finally admitted after a long pause. “I don’t understand though. _Why_ would Mildred kill ‘Cilla? They adored each other.”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Patrick answered, reaching for his cell phone and pulling up Cho’s number. “Where’s your wife now?”

“In the car,” Bruce said. “Do you still want to talk to her?”

“I think we’re going to need to bring her down to the Sheriff’s office and question her there,” Patrick replied, pressing his phone to his ear. “Hey Cho, this is Patrick Jane. I think I might have caught a break in the case. The suspect’s husband is with me, where on our way over right now. Okay, I’ll see you soon. ‘Bye now.”

“Is everything okay?” Teresa asked as she came down the stairs with a basketful of dirty laundry in her arms.

“Everything’s fine my dear,” Patrick told her as he met her halfway to take the laundry basket from her and lead her away from Bruce and lowered his voice. “Mr. Bennett got his wife to come out of Pricilla’s bedroom, and we’re going to take her down to the station for questioning.”

“So, she really did do it then?” Teresa whispered back, as she glanced over his shoulder at the discouraged looking man.

“She did have the missing engagement ring and that counts for something,” Patrick replied.

She rose to kiss his cheek. “Well, I hope this is the lead you’ve been looking for.”

“I think it is,” he said, returning her chaste kiss as he dropped their clothes in the threshold of the laundry room. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Teresa agreed. “Good luck.”

Patrick looked over at Bruce. “Are you ready to go Mr. Bennett?”

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” he answered, trying to smile as he followed Patrick out the door.

**.**

“Did you kill your daughter, Mrs. Bennett?” Cho asked as he uncapped his pen and turned to a blank page in his notebook.

Mildred sighed and dabbed her eyes with a sodden Kleenex. “What makes you think that I did it sheriff?”

Cho shook his head. “We’re just asking because so far everybody else we’ve questioned has had passable alibis.”

“I didn’t do it,” Mildred said, sniffing slightly as she reached for a clean tissue. “You know the real person you should be questioning is Shawn Jones. You know, he was obsessed with my daughter. He wouldn’t leave her alone, even when she told him that she wasn’t interested.”

“So? He gave her a couple of expensive presents, that doesn’t make him a murderer and you know it!” Patrick retorted.

“Maybe it was Edward,” Mildred answered. “Maybe he killed her because she refused his proposal.”

“She didn’t refuse him. If she _had_ refused him then he would have kept the ring, but he didn’t have it. You did.”

“I-I—” Mildred faltered and shrugged. “Okay, so I had ‘Cilla’s ring. That doesn’t make me guilty of murder, does it?”

 “Not exactly,” Patrick answered. “But that fact coupled with the Hermés scarves I found in your closet makes you almost look good for it.”

Mildred frowned. “Hermés scarves and an engagement ring make me look good for murder?”

 _“Almost,”_ Patrick stressed. “Do you realize since you’ve come here, you’ve almost completely dropped the roll of grieving mother? Maybe you’re trying to hide something?”

“No!” Mildred insisted.

“Mrs. Bennett, you’re the one who found Pricilla. How did you know where to look for her?” Cho asked, trying to get the interview back on track.

“It was her usual spot on the beach,” she answered. “Every single time she had a problem, or she wanted to be alone with her friends or boyfriend, that’s where she’d go—”

“But why look their first?” Patrick asked. “Why not call one of her friends and see if she was staying with them? Why not check Edward’s room, they’d just gotten engaged. Maybe they decided to spend the night together—”

“Pricilla was a _devote_ Catholic,” Mildred interjected. “She was waiting until she got married to. . . give herself to a man.”

Patrick smiled oddly. “You could have still called her friends to see if she was with them.”

“I did!”

“Would you be willing to show us your call history?” Cho asked.

“My-my phone is at home,” Mildred answered shortly.

“I guess I’ll have to call in and just get a warrant for your phone then,” Cho told her.

For a moment, Mildred looked slightly panicked and then she sighed. “So, I didn’t call any of her friends, but it was only because she knows better than to go off without telling anybody where she’s going.”

“You need to stop changing your story and tell us what _really_ happened Mrs. Bennett,” Patrick said. “It’ll be a lot easier for you if you do.”

“I killed my daughter. Is that what you want to hear, Mr. Jane?”

“Yes,” he replied. “If you killed your daughter, that’s exactly what I want to hear.”

Mildred set her mouth into a thin line and sighed. “I killed my daughter.”

“Did you?” Cho asked. “Or are you only telling us something we want to hear? Because if you _are_ lying, it’ll only get you into as much trouble if you were telling the truth.”

“I’m not just telling you what you want to hear. I killed ‘Cilla,” Mildred said.

“Why?” Patrick prodded.

“Because! _Because_ Edward was going to marry her and take her away from here. . . from _me_!” She replied. “When I overheard them talking, making all their plans. . . I couldn’t stand to lose her—”

“So, you decided if _you_ couldn’t have her than nobody could? Am I right?” Patrick asked.

“I wouldn’t have minded if they were just going to get married and stay here,” Mildred answered. “But he was going to take her to New York. Do you know how far New York is from California?”

“Do you know how many planes a day leaves from here to New York?” Patrick replied. “You could have always bought a ticket and gone to stay with her. You didn’t have to murder your _own_ daughter because she was going to leave you. Kids grow up and leave the proverbial nest _every single_ day, Mrs. Bennett. That’s just the way life goes.”

**TBC. . .**


	8. Chapter 8

“You’re back already!” Teresa said as she scurried down the porch steps to meet Patrick. “Did she—?”

“She confessed,” he replied as he slid his arm around her waist and walked back to the house with her. “Mr. Bennett can bury his daughter knowing that her own mother killed her.”

“At least you got justice for Pricilla,” she answered.

“Yes,” Patrick agreed, smiling at her. “At least there’s that.”

Teresa returned his smile, nudging him gently with a thin shoulder. “Come on, let’s ditch the housework and go down to the beach. I could really use some sun and a diet Coke.”

Patrick looked slightly taken aback by her suggestion. He was the one who usually proposed they skip their chores to do something else, the only thing she ever did was protest him on the matter before sending him away to dust all the ceiling fans in their beach house. He cleared his throat and studied her for a long moment.

“But what about the laundry?” He finally asked, even though he didn’t really care about it.

“Already washed, dried and put away,” Teresa answered as he opened the door for her and allowed her to go inside before him. “All we have to do is make our bed, but that can wait until we get back.”

“Do you think that there’s something bothering me and you’re trying to make me feel better because of it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, looking over her shoulder at him as she started for the staircase. “Tell me, Patrick. _Is_ there something bothering you?”

Patrick released a long sigh and shook his head as he followed her up the stairs. “No, there’s nothing bothering me. I just realized how glad I am that I’m not involved with police work on a regular basis anymore. I forgot how truly depressing it could get.”

“Did you talk to Mr. Bennett before you came home?” Teresa asked, rummaging around in her drawer for her bathing suit.

“I did,” Patrick answered, disappearing into the bathroom to get his swimming trunks.  “He couldn’t say much, I think the next few months will really determine how things go for him. But I have a feeling that he’ll be the same strong person that he has been this whole time.”

She joined him in the bathroom and clipped up her hair. “Are you worried about him?”

“No,” Patrick said, tossing his shirt aside and tying the strings on his aqua blue bathing suit. “I mean, not really. I think that I mostly feel sorry for him. He lost two people he cared about in the space of a few short days. That has to be hard on any man, even if the man is strong.”

Teresa smiled at him and threaded her hand through his. “Come on. An afternoon at the beach is exactly what you need to cheer you up.”

“I don’t need cheering up!” he protested as he smiled down at her and tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m fine!”

“Don’t give me that _‘you’re fine’_ baloney!” Teresa retorted as she dragged him out of the bathroom. “I’ve been with you long enough to know when you’re lying to me.”

“Oh, you _do_ ,do you?”

“Yeah, I do!” She answered cheerfully. “In fact, after three years of being your better half, I think that I know everything about you now.”

Patrick stopped her from taking another step down the stairs. “I think you just might be right.”

And then, he kissed her.

**.**

“Do you mind if I sit down for a minute?” Patrick asked Edward on Friday afternoon as the funeral reception had begun to wind down.

Edward nodded and motioned for him to take the seat beside him. “Go ahead.”

He did and the two men sat uncommunicatively for a while, looking out over the ocean, each lost in their own thought until Edward decided to finally the silence between them.

“Thank you for finding out who killed my ‘Cilla,” he said. “It means a lot to me. . . to all of us really. I think Bruce, me, and even Shawn will forever be in your debt.”

Patrick looked a little surprised and then he shook his head. “There’s no debt, I’m just glad I could help you out.”

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?” Edward asked after another minute of prolonged quiet.

“Yes. I did,” Patrick replied, doing his best to smile at him. “Now, this isn’t something you want to hear right . . . especially not today of all days, but I think you _need_ to hear it.”

“Okay?” Edward answered, looking a little puzzled.

“I came to see you because I wanted you to know that one day you’re probably going to meet somebody,” Patrick said. “And she’s going to help you heal. Yes, you’ll always remember Pricilla, but you’ll realize that there’s room enough in your heart for more than one person.”

“How do you know?” Edward asked.

“Because – believe it or not – it happened to me once,” Patrick answered, looking up as Teresa came out the door with Bruce at her heels. “I lost somebody loved too. And I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love again, but then I met somebody and she showed me that I was wrong.”

Edward looked a little surprised as his eyes found Teresa. “You and Mrs. Jane? But I’ve always assumed that you two have been together forever.”

Patrick shook his head. “No. I haven’t been with her very long at all. That doesn’t matter though, not right now. I want you to promise me that when the day comes, when you find somebody who has the ability to help you move on, seize the opportunity to do so and never look back. Try not to allow yourself to entertain _what ifs_ and whatever the circumstances are, don’t make her have to pursue you. Could you promise those things?”

Edward glanced over at Teresa again; saw the way she was looking at Patrick as she waited for him by their car. “Do you think it’s what Pricilla would want? For me to eventually move on and try to be happy again?”

“I know it’s what she’d want.”

Edward looked back at Patrick and sighed slightly. “Well, if the opportunity ever arises, I promise I’ll do all the things you told me to do.”

“If you don’t, I’m going to be forced to come over here and make you keep your promise,” Patrick warned.

Edward laughed inspite of himself. “I guess I’m just going to have to keep my promise then.”

“Make sure you do,” he said as he stood up. “I have to go now; my wife’s waiting for me. I’ll see you around, Edward.”

“See you around, Mr. Jane,” Edward parroted, getting to his feet and waving goodbye.

“Ready to go?” Teresa asked, as Patrick came up to the car and opened the passenger door for her.

“I am,” he confirmed. “How about you? Are you ready to go home, Mrs. Jane?”

Teresa nodded and stole another glimpse at Edward before she slid into the Citroen. “What about Edward?” she asked. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

Patrick got into the driver’s seat and nodded as he took her hand. “Yes, I’ll think he’s going to be fine eventually. If I can do it, anybody can.”

**.**

“Put Asta in with us for the night,” Teresa said as she bookmarked her spot in _the Thin Man_ and then started to get comfortable underneath the satin sheets.

“Put Asta in with us for the night?” Patrick repeated as he unhooked the dog’s leash and slung it over a chair and discarded his navy blue, CBI sweatshirt. “ _Put Asta in with us for the night_. You’ve been saying that all week. Well, sorry sweetheart, Asta’s going to have to sleep on the floor tonight.”

“Oh really?” Teresa challenged, arching a thin eyebrow as he dove on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. “Says who?”

 

“Me,” Patrick answered, covering her with his body and seeking out her lips with his own.

Teresa’s eyelids fluttered shut slightly. “It’s been a long week, aren’t you tired. . . oh—”

“Did you say something?” He asked, pulling away and smiling at her slyly.

“No,” she murmured, pulling him down and deepening their kiss. “If you’re hearing things, you must be getting old.”

Asta whimpered and stood on his hind legs, trying to jump on the bed and claim his usual spot between them.

“Not now Asta!” Patrick growled, sitting up slightly so he could gently push the terrier away from their bed.

“You know, he’s going to think you don’t like him,” Teresa told him, propping herself up on her elbows and looking down at their job.

Patrick rolled his eye and didn’t dignify her pronouncement with a response. “If that dog doesn’t get down now, I’m going to banish him to the living room for the night.”

“And we all know how that goes,” Teresa replied, soothing him with a kiss. “We won’t be getting any sleep tonight, if you do that.”

“Just for a little bit then,” Patrick said as he tugged the comforters and sheets over their heads and pulled her flush against his chest.

“It still won’t go over well,” she whispered as he kissed her ear. “You know Asta, he needs our constant attention or there’ll be. . . _oh_ —”

It was the last comment she made about Asta or anything else for a long while.


End file.
